


“ we were always going to say goodbye, weren’t we? ”

by harlequindream



Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: Angst and Porn, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 08:26:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6975433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harlequindream/pseuds/harlequindream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set on Catherine's last day of filming Doctor Who for series four.</p>
            </blockquote>





	“ we were always going to say goodbye, weren’t we? ”

She's given flowers, and cheers, and hugs, and smiles. She sees everyone in the room applauding her and saying such obscene yet wonderful things about her time with them. Everything is so lovely, everyone is  _ so _ lovely. Plenty of these people come up to hug her and kiss her cheek, some of her new very good friends, even. But  _ he _ doesn’t. He smiles, waves, mouths  _ ‘well done’. _ Then he disappears into the crowd departing the room.

She glances around the room, notices people turning off lighting and the cameras, and shoving bits and pieces into cases. Looks at people hugging each other too, some of them soon to be off on a holiday now that this is ending. Some people are still waving at her from across the room, giving her a silent clap. 

Though, she's not emotional, actually.  _ It’s just, _ he's not there. He was, and then  _ poof!  _ Nothing.   
  
  
She excuses herself from the room, holding the huge bouquet of flowers in the crook of her elbow. Trying to weave between people, trying to search for him. She knows he hates goodbyes and endings, but this is a bit much.   
  
There's only one place she can think of that he might disappear to. She suspects that he has thought about this for quite some time, thought that she’ll find him there. And it’s because they’ve gotten to know each other this well. 

  
No one follows her, no one bothers to. No one must think about it, certainly. Maybe they won't chase her because they respect that she needs a moment to herself. What she really needs is a moment with him,  _ for _ him. 

Not bothering to knock on his trailer she walks in, still holding her flowers, still in costume, still blushing from the attention she was receiving before. He's got his back to the door, and though it looks like he's flicking through a script she knows better. She knows him. Knows him better than that by now.  
  
He turns quickly at the sound she's created by shutting his door. Tries to act surprised, like he can fool her into believing she wouldn't know where to go. Wouldn't know where he ran off to. This is a game they play. Pretending to not know what the other will do, or how they will act. It’s all too predictable. Spending so much time together over the last eight months will do that to two people.   
  
But she gives a knowing smile. The corners of her mouth edging up slightly, just enough to say 'You alright?', although she damn well knows he isn't. She’s not exactly alright either, though.  
  
There is the beginnings of a tear in his left eye, she can see it clearly while looking at him, staring at his habitually sad eyes. He really hates the end of things, she knows, and she wishes there was something she could do for him on this day. To make it easier, to make it not seem like a goodbye. There isn’t much she can think of.   
  
"Not going to clap for me, then?" she tries, weakly. Her voice soft and elegant, so unlike her alter ego for the better part of the last year.  
  
He shakes his head. Briefly, but it's like he's shaking out the thoughts troubling his brain. Everything except the ones that are trying to keep him from weeping and letting her see him like that.   
  
She wouldn't mind though. Wouldn't think any more or less of him. He's human, and he doesn't like this bit (he doesn’t have to). When people leave, and a good thing just _stops._  
  
  
Her flowers get discarded onto the table by the window as she walks closer to him, resting a hand on his bicep. He's tall, and she likes that. Their difference in height acceptable but not ridiculous. She hugs him, and it's a perfect fit. Soft curves fitting into sharp angles, and moulding together. He rests his head on top of hers, and there is no struggle for comfortability. It just works for them.   
  
She tells him something he already knows, "This isn't really the end."  
  
"I know," he says, choked up and words tight around his own throat.   
  
"We'll never have a goodbye," she assures him. "I promise."  
  
He's in his own desperate world, never wants to let her go, never wants her to leave. He takes a breath in, through his nose, steadying, _strong,_ chest inflating and rising. Like his ribcage is going to burst open from a full heart. A hand weaves into her hair, messing up the beautiful way she had it, tugs her head back and he presses his lips to hers, shamelessly attacking her lips with his tongue. Asking, pleading, for her to return his wild gesture.   
  
She does, of course. How could she refuse?  
  
He kisses her and it's like the sun setting, beautiful and fiery. Burning so bright, but only for a short, hopeless time because when it's gone things get dark, dazzling, and _daunting_. He presses against her, causing her spine to bend back while her in turn stomach curves against his shape for the support she needs.   
  
  
He kisses her, and it _feels_ like goodbye.   
  
  
His name drips from her lips, sticky and sweet, _~~but caustic,~~_ begging for him to do something so much more. Something dark and loving. Asks him for the one thing she's never had to ask of him before. He obliges by forcing that leather coat off, and undoing the belt around her waist, undoing the knot around her heart and around her throat, too. Despite her previous feelings on the matter, she feels like she can breathe freely, now that he's here to breathe with. Breathe in. It’s always been a problem, to be able to use her very healthy lungs around him. She’s been holding her breath because she could never have him, but today it’s different. Today is a free pass. Today she can let her lungs release air, release her inhibitions with it.  
  
She divests him of his coat too. Careful to not lay a scratch or tear a stitch, because that would be disastrous in so many ways.   
  
They yank each other's clothes off and it's like freeing themselves of every barrier they've ever faced in life, with every layer they take off they become so much lighter in their souls. Kiss newly uncovered skin like nothing has ever felt so pure. Feels like running free in a garden with your best friend when you were younger. Feels safe.   
  
And then _she_ is the one to push him down on the small, built-in sofa of the small space. Climbs on top of him, knees fitting snug and warm against his hips, thighs feeling comfortable beside his. She clasps his cock in one hand, stroking him softly, getting used to the feel of him, like she's never known him before in her life. 

He breathes out, unwavering. His hot, mint-fresh breath on her neck feeling like it's suffocating,  _ now. _ Such a change in such a short time. Everything feels like living, and at some point in the middle of it all, feels like dying. But there is no death so sweet as his tongue on her neck, his teeth at her ear.    
  
  
She lives to die like this. Completely at his mercy.   
  
  
There's a moment between them, when she raises her hips, steadying herself above him, rubbing her wetness over the tip of him, _ when he is the one at her mercy now. _ A moment where they look into each other’s eyes, and see a whole different world. A universe where they could do this every day and night and not worry about other people. A different life for them, where nothing is desperate, or distorted, or dying. One where they just live together. But she's too impatient to dwell on the things she could have had. Can't have.    
  
She sinks down onto him, then, while they’re fixating on each other. Her lips part, a whimper escapes her and suddenly she pushes out all other thoughts that aren't about the way he feels inside of her, hot and throbbing and only hers.    
  
They fuck like animals. There's no mistaking this. It's not making love. It's not waking up beside each other, and knowing how they like their tea, or silently separating the sections of the newspaper that he reads, or knowing she'd prefer just to stare at him reading. This isn't like that. It's just pushing and pulling, and grabbing and biting. It's clumsy and rough, tongue and teeth everywhere. Nails clawing into soft, manipulatable skin, marking every bit they can reach. It's plain and simple fucking, but then she feels a tear drop on her throat and slide down her neck, and it feels like a hand crushing her windpipe. It makes her rush, the build up quickening. Makes her twist her hips so he hits that perfect spot that forces her to bite his shoulder and muffle her scream, and her,  _ “jesus christ..” _   
  
  
He mumbles something into her skin, tone shaking and branding her.   
"Mine," it says. "Don't stop," it yells. "Don't --don't go," it shouts.    
  
  
And she throws her head back, a silent scream ripping from her body, pouring out her mouth. White-hot heat floods through her veins, sets her body aflame. She’s a quivering, whimpering mess, and she can't feel the pain of his nails in her back, or his teeth sinking into her clavicle. The grumbles from deep inside his throat are only lost within her ears. She only feels pressure, exploding in different directions.   
  
And then the pressure lifts, disappears into thin air. And the marks on her body forcefully drag her back to this world. The lines carved into her back become apparent, as do the purple spots on her breasts. The soft kisses being placed all over her make her feel at home, feel safe again. Then she opens her eyes and looks at him, his eyes red and wet, but they shine with greatness and lust  _ (not love), _ and she's thrown into reality that; this isn't home. Not at all. She falls back to Earth, her body making an imprint on the ground, and that’s all she has left. The imprint that proves she was somewhere else, with someone who is all she has ever wanted for one small, glorious moment. And now she’s left all alone again.   
  
Her lips kiss his freckles, her tongue traces over his lips, one final taste of him so that she has something  _ real  _ to remember forever.    
  
There's no time to bask in the sweaty after-glow. They must return to their own reality outside of his trailer. They finger brush their hair back to something acceptable, make sure belts and coats are in a proper position. Their hands touch for just a few seconds, and it  _ burns. _ She has to force the sobs that threaten to release themselves back down her throat and into her stomach. They hold hands for a few seconds more and her equilibrium is thrown off balance. Her head spins, round and round, wondering why in the  _ fuck _ this had to happen the way it did.

  
So she slips her hand away, and it’s one of the hardest things she’s ever done.

  
She leaves a flower from her bouquet on his table, just for a keepsake. A keepsake of what? She’s not even sure, but maybe he is. She hopes he is. Someone in this mess has to be.   
  
She hangs her head down, looking to the ground as she starts to make her exit but his hands are unexpectedly on her arms and pull her back, and she sweeps into his arms like it's a habit. Which it miserably is by now.   
  
"Not goodbye?" he asks, slowly, full of emotion, and she wants to tell him to shut up. To just stop talking because this is ridiculous, he's her best friend, of course not. Except she doesn't say a thing. She doesn't ruin this. Whatever it is. Maybe, for right now, she can pretend they're in another universe. And this wasn't wrong. Maybe they weren't in his trailer, but just at home in their own bed, with their reading glasses beside each other on the table. A book on her side, scripts and a newspaper on his.    
  
For just a moment they can pretend they're somewhere else, and this isn't an ending, but a beginning.    
  
"Never goodbye," she breathes.   
  
Except, this absolutely feels like goodbye.

 

_ It’s the end of an era. _


End file.
